


As long as you are mine

by Luna218



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Character Study, Developing Friendships, M/M, Sherlock's Childhood, There will be Johnlock fluff and smut in later chapters, Wicked AU, more tags to be added as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-06-08 10:09:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6850447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna218/pseuds/Luna218
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would happen if Sherlock and John met in the magical world of Oz?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I went to see Wicked - The Musical in London last February and I fell in love with the story right away. I saw so much of Sherlock and John in it that on the same night, the idea of an AU was born. A few months on, I've finally started writing it. This is the first chapter of many and writing that story will take a lot of time. I want to stay as true to the book as possible but also do justice to Sherlock and John's relationship, so please bear with me as I create this world.
> 
> I cannot promise regular updates but I will do my best.
> 
> If you enjoy this story, please let me know. Useful criticism is always welcome.

He looked down on them, sneering with dismay. The simple-mindedness of these people was one thing he surely would not miss. A few feet below him, they walked the streets of Oz, cheering on his death and shouting abuse at his soul. In hell he should find no rest, they chanted, for he deserved eternal punishment for all the horrors he had brought over the country. Little did they know or care that he would not mind spending his afterlife in hell, after all, he had already been spending all his life there. The people celebrating his death now had made it so. Most of them seemed more than a little drunk and for a moment he considered getting onto his broom to fly through the crowd and curse them all as he passed them. He did not. However much he resented the hateful mob, he swore one thing but to himself: He would hide himself, he would control his anger if he could and he would only ever be good again for one man, the man he loved with all his heart – a man who loved him just as much in return. Yet, as always in his life, there was no happiness without obstacles. The man he had lost his heart to, now believed him to be dead.


	2. Of being born into a world without love

“You can’t possibly leave me now,” she shouted as she followed her husband into the kitchen. He had packed a little bag to carry what he needed for his journey to the neighbouring village.

Frexpar Holmes was the seventh son of a seventh son and the position of minister had run in his family for several generations. He loved his wife Melena, who was heavily pregnant with their first child, but he valued his position and his responsibility to his congregation more than anything. For quite some time now the region had been under the threat of the Time Dragon, a strange installation that impressed the simple people but worried Frex even more because of it. There was no other way, the priest told himself, he needed to go and warn them.

“Yes, darling, I need to. It is my duty,” he opposed, finally facing his wife. She looked huge indeed, at least around the middle. She’d kept most of her normal shape during the pregnancy and remained outrageously beautiful throughout the whole nine months. The baby was due to arrive any day now, that much was certain.

“Our boy will wait another day, I’m sure,” he told her while walking up to her to take her delicate hands in his own. “With me being away all the time it is enough of a miracle that we managed to have a baby at all. It is our destiny; I can feel it. All will be well, my dear,” he said and kissed her cheek softly. “I will be back before you know it,” he promised and was out the front door without looking back.

As Melena knew her luck, the baby started its way out of her womb that same evening. Lying in sweat-drenched sheets, she regretted every choice that had led to this moment. Nine months ago, on yet another evening she had had to spend all by herself, she had received a wondrous visitor that had offered her a magical elixir in the most beautiful glass flask she had ever seen. Melena loved fine-looking things, so she couldn’t resist and drank the green liquid in one go. She lost her conscience afterwards and never saw the flask nor the mysterious stranger again but as her belly started to grow over the months that followed, she started to suspect what else might have been done to her in that night. She did not tell Frex, of course. She had hoped that the knowledge of their first child being on the way would keep the man closer to home but she had underestimated just how devoted to his work Frex really was.

His dedication certainly did not spare Frex the shame of being ridiculed by his own congregation that very night. As the machinery known to all simply as the Clock of the Time Dragon set into motion and waved its gigantic golden head in time with words that preached pleasure instead of faith, the people that had gathered to see the show broke out in cheers. Frex tried to warn them but it was too late. They did not want to hear what the priest had to say and even turned on him, chasing him away with accusations of envy and wild insults. Frex had no other chance than to admit his defeat and leave for the time being.

Meanwhile his wife fought a battle of her own. She had called for her old nanny, a lovely and wise woman by the name of Martha Hudson, that she still called Nanny, just as she had done when she was a child. Mrs Hudson had done her best to soothe the young woman of whom she knew that she had never had to endure any real pain in all her life. Inwardly, she definitely thought that Melena finally deserved some suffering of her own. But what she saw once the baby was safely lying in her arms was certainly more unusual than she would have expected. The little boy was strong and beautiful without a question but there was something eerie about him, too. He had the right number of limbs, all ten little fingers and toes were just where they belonged and yet.. when the nanny touched her finger to the baby’s lips, the boy’s eyes snapped open and their colour was so remarkable that Mrs Hudson almost dropped the child in shock. The irises shone like emeralds in the sunshine, the most beautiful green she had ever seen but the intense gaze of those eyes gave the older woman chills of discomfort. Then the boy started wailing and the nanny spotted tiny white dots working their way through the child’s gums. Barely born and already growing teeth – Mrs Hudson’s worry must have shown on her face because in that moment Melena, exhausted from giving birth, looked at her, forehead wrinkled in unuttered questions. Mrs Hudson passed her the baby and Melena took it, holding the little boy close to her heart. When she ran her fingers through his soft little curls, she blamed the green hue in his otherwise black hair on the light of the lantern by her bed. Her discomfort grew as she discovered the same green in a much greater intensity within her baby’s eyes. The colour seemed familiar, but what it reminded her of, she would rather not dwell on.

Nanny insisted that she needed to start feeding him as soon as possible and Melena tried, she really did. Though just seconds after she offered her breast to her baby, the thing latched onto her nipple and bit into it, chewing and sucking so hard that Melena screamed in agony. After a lengthy struggle Mrs Hudson managed to convince the boy to let go and followed her mistress’s order to carry the little creature out of her sight. Something was not right with this child and the nanny started to suspect that evil forces had their hand in its creation.

“Poor little beast,” she muttered, as she stroked the boy’s hair gently. “I’ll take care of you. There must be a way to get all that,” she waved her hand along the side of her head, “out of you. You’ll be normal in no time.”

By way of reacting, the baby seemed to attempt a smile and it was easily the most horrible Mrs Hudson had ever seen.

* * *

 

When Frex returned home his son was introduced to him immediately and all the problems with the child that had presented themselves over the last few hours were reported to him. Mrs Hudson had unsuccessfully tried washing the evil forces out of the child by bathing it in milk. Through the whole process the boy kept wailing and tried getting his sharp little teeth, which seemed to grow by the minute, into any flesh he could reach, so the nanny had to give up on her efforts for the sake of self-protection.

Frex’s approach of exorcising the demons that might have possessed his child was just as fruitless. It left the minister weak and shaking while the child seemed to be completely unimpressed by the proceedings going on around him. Mrs Hudson observed the scene and, when nobody else seemed to be willing to do it, took care of the little beast. She put on a few extra layers of clothes to protect her arms and chest as she carried the baby. She tried feeding it milk from a bottle and it seemed to work until the tiny boy sniffed her herbal tea – a special mixture she liked to prepare for herself and strictly medical, even though some people in the neighbourhood might have been suggesting otherwise.

“Look at you, filthy little thing. You want that, don’t you,” she asked the child in her arms.

Then she thought it could hardly do any harm and poured some of it into the bottle. It certainly didn’t make the green hue go away but at least Mrs Hudson’s special herbal soother managed to do what it said on the tin and the boy fell into a deep sleep for the first time since entering the world.

“So,” Mrs Hudson said as she approached the parents, “have you thought about a name for him yet?”

Both looked at her incredulously.

“Nanny,” Melena sniffed, “I’m not going to keep that child and if I don’t keep it, I won’t name it either.”

That seemed to enrage Frex, who argued that, as hideous as the child might be, it was their responsibility to raise it and love it. Following Frex’s mind, that was supposed to be the end of this particular argument.

In the following days of his young life, the Holmes baby was mostly taken care of by his father and his nanny. His mother only ever seemed to be lurking at a safe distance, looking at him like he was some sort of menace. He did not care about it much, his father seemed to grow fond of him and even though Mrs Hudson kept calling him terrible names, he had already decided that she was all he needed to survive in this world. All the more tragic it was for him when the nanny quite reluctantly suggested trying sorcery to turn him into a normal boy. His father, being a deeply religious man both by profession and character, was furious at the suggestion and chased the old woman out of his house with the order to never set another foot into it again. So it came that, but a few days old, the little boy had his heart broken for the first time.

Left alone in the cot, he heard his parents argue in the distance and for the first time he experienced a state of mind that he would loathe for the rest of his entire life: boredom. By way of distracting himself he put his little hand into his mouth and brought the sharp little teeth together until it started to hurt. When his parents finally thought of checking on their little boy, he had given himself severe wounds on both hands and his face was smeared with his own blood. Seeing it, Melena almost fainted and in the end it was left to Frex to clean up his son and dress the little hands to protect them from more injuries. On a second thought, he wrapped the little legs in cotton cloths as well and put the boy back into his cot.

Sighing, he approached his wife’s bed. Melena had laid herself down to recover from her shock and had promptly fallen asleep. Putting his hand on her shoulder, Frex gently woke her.

“Darling, the situation out in the village is more severe than I thought,” he said in a serious tone. “I need to leave you again; I need to do my best to stop this horrible machinery from spoiling my people.” Caught in complete disbelief, Melena scrambled up into a sitting position.

“But Frex,” she cried desperately, “your people? I am who you should care about most. You cannot leave me alone with this,” she struggled for words, “this thing!”

“Darling,” he tried softly at first, but then he saw anger at being left alone again rise in his wife and changed his tone to something more commanding and superior, “Melena, you are this boy’s mother. If you harm him, I will punish you, believe me. You will take care of him and you will find a place for him in your heart. Above all, you will find our son a name that is worthy of him.”

No other word was spoken between them that night or the following morning and before Melena was able to register the change, she was left to her own devices again. With Nanny having been forced to leave, she was now the only person to look after the baby and she found that she could not disobey her husband’s orders. By afternoon she found herself tiptoeing around the cot. The boy watched her every step and gurgled unpleasantly as she picked him up. Angling his teeth as far away from her body as possible, Melena fed her child and then walked out with him into the garden. She let her eyes roam over the landscape and then went back to observing the child in her arms. His hair definitely had a green shine to it and it was black as the night, unlike that of any other man or woman far and wide.

“You’ll be trouble, I know it,” she murmured, “and people will avoid us because of you. I hardly have friends anymore but with you around, nobody will care for me at all. Your father left us and as much as I want to, I may not kill you. I promised to take care of you and a woman of my standing will not break her own word,” she nodded her head, determined. “If you make my life miserable, I will return that favour,” she smiled at herself darkly. “Let me give you a worthy name, just like you father wanted. Worthy, but never fitting,” she smiled down at the child, who had been listening to her intently, and then smirked, “Sherlock – the fair-haired – Holmes.”


	3. A bad omen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into Sherlock's childhood, in which he discovered that his family is quite extraordinary and that he might be quite different from other children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who have read and complimented me on this story so far. Your enthusiasm drives me on, so here is, earlier than expected, the next chapter of this fic. I hope you enjoy. xx

It only took a few days for Melena to fall back into old patterns and before long she started drinking to chase her loneliness away. When that did not help, she started taking heavier drugs and at least for a few hours, she was content. She stopped thinking about her ill choices and the potential future life she had given up on the day when she, a daughter from a most influential and rich family, had decided to marry a man way below her rank. The feelings she had had for Frex when they had met and started going out together were unbelievable and at the time she thought it would be enough. Little did Melena know about herself because she had always had the tendency to fall out of love with people as quickly as she came to like them. So it was her very own fault that she was now left with a hideous child that she had to take care of and the temptation to just end the creature’s life was overpowering sometimes. During the few times when she paid attention to her son, Melena fought back shivers of disgust. It seemed like the green eyes were cutting through her, analysing her every move and sometimes she feared the wretched thing was even able to read her mind. The sharp teeth were terrifying but fortunately Sherlock had stopped using them to hurt her or himself. To her dismay, the alternative the little boy had found to occupy himself had not been any more refined. Whatever tickled his interest landed first in his chubby little hands and then in front of his face, to either be sniffed or licked at or to be chewed on. Even though he seemed interested in the objects he picked up, Sherlock never appeared to feel any joy when he examined them. His face stayed passive most of the time and as hard as Melena thought about it, she could not remember seeing her child smile even once.

All that was supposed to change the day when a glassblower from one of the neighbouring countries took shelter in the Holmes’ house. Melena was out in the garden, watching Sherlock crawl through grass and mud, losing herself in thoughts of pressing the child’s face into a puddle until it stopped breathing, when a deep, male voice addressed her from the gate.

“Excuse me, fair lady, I was wondering if a travelling glassblower like me could have a little rest at your house?”

Melena looked the man up and down and felt her cheeks flush as her heart began to beat faster. He was a fine man indeed, not noble in his appearance, but he looked strong, his body tall and packed with muscles. His skin was tanned and Melena could already imagine the contrast that her creamy-white body would provide to the colour of those strong arms once the glassblower wrapped them around her in a passionate embrace. So she bade him welcome and offered him a chair in the garden. Turtle Heart his name was, she learned before she went into the house to fetch tea and biscuits. When she returned, she could hardly believe her eyes, for the man had picked Sherlock up from the ground and was balancing the boy on his lap. The boy, Melena had to look twice and then a third time, was giving off gurgling laughing sounds and his face was decorated with an eerie smile.

“How did you,” she started as she approached the strange pair.

“He’s a cute one, he is,” Turtle Heart exclaimed as he grabbed the boy’s body under the little arms and lifted him up. “Most pretty eyes, I has ever seen. Them teeth though, how did they come about?”

Melena set down the cups and plates a little more firmly than intended. “His father was a strange man,” she explained.

“Was,” the glassblower asked. “So you’s a widow, then?”

Melena flushed, then shook her head. “No,” she mumbled, “just lonely.”

That same night and every night after that up until Frex’s return, Melena shared her bed with the glassblower. She hardly had any second thoughts about it, as her husband would never have to learn anything about the encounters.

 

* * *

 

 

When Frex returned he welcomed the stranger to his family, seeing that he was by far the most capable of them all when it came to dealing with his son. Sherlock had grown during the months of his absence but had not attempted speaking yet, which worried Frex more than a little. He liked watching his son but rarely interacted with him directly, for he started to question again just how much Sherlock really was his.

Sherlock, on the other hand, was quite content with the situation as it presented itself to him. He did not need much and at least the visitor, that his unfriendly mother had seemed to like much more than the man who thought himself Sherlock’s father, understood what little he wanted and gave it to him. Turtle Heart was a simple man but he looked at Sherlock with interest, not disgust. Sherlock valued that greatly. When his father presented him with shiny new toys, he threw them away in favour of a broken piece of wood or a disfigured stone he had picked up in the garden. Eating, above all else, was a terrible nuisance to the little boy and when given a fish on a plate, he would rather prod the eyes out of the thing and play with them, than bring any of the white flesh into any proximity to his mouth. He hated being washed, because the water caused him great agony when it touched his skin, so Turtle Heart had taken to scrubbing him down with a dry cloth every evening before bed. Sherlock thought of this as an acceptable compromise.

The boy’s mild happiness received a huge blow when one day, his mother decided to take him into the village. Only much later did he find out that his beloved nanny was behind all this and for a while he liked her a little bit less because of it. Mrs Hudson, bless her soul, had followed the very humane intention of setting Sherlock up with some friends, children his age. How the old lady could not foresee how very wrong this undertaking would go, Sherlock continued to ask himself for most of his life.

It came as no surprise, at least to the boy himself, that the other children did not like him very much. The moment his mother set him down, they would first hide themselves to observe him from a safe distance, until they dared to come closer and roam around him like a hunter would circle in on his prey. Sherlock did not know how to put his many thoughts into words yet, so he tried everything from snarling to flashing his teeth at them. In the end, when they had taken to throwing stones at him, all he had left to do was curl in on himself, shouting in his head for anyone to save him from this horrible situation.

It was Nanny who heard and rescued him. He saw the tears of fury in her eyes as she screamed at the children, who had hurt him so badly that he bled, and Sherlock decided that he would forgive the old woman for the misperception that anyone would ever like to play with him. No more attempts at making friends were made after that and Sherlock was once again quite content with his life.

On the evening of his second birthday, something remarkable happened, because it was the day when Sherlock Holmes uttered his first word. Up until then, he had not dared to try sounding a single syllable but when he listened to Turtle Heart talking about the pain and suffering of his people, that was likely to go on for ages, Sherlock felt his little mouth starting to tingle as his lips and tongue followed the need to produce a single word:

“Horrors,” the child blurted in a scratchy little voice and suddenly, three pairs of eyes focussed on him.

“Horrors,” he said again, growing more confident with every time he repeated the word until he broke into a sort of chant that seemed to entertain him greatly.

As it had happened many times before by then, only Turtle Heart seemed to be able to appreciate the boy’s achievement, since he picked him up and held him close, muttering words of both praise and comfort.

The strange little family including a mother, her child and two men, who seemed to not only share the love for the same woman but also for each other, sat around a fire in the garden during that night and to all three male members of the party the world seemed to stop turning when, out of the blue, Melena announced that she was pregnant again.

While both Turtle Heart and Frex saw for themselves the prospect of becoming a father, Sherlock continued to mutter the only word he was able to say and yet, it was the only word he needed.

 

* * *

 

 

In the morning after his second birthday, Sherlock awoke with the memories of a strange dream. He was sat around the fire with Turtle Heart and his parents, when the glassblower produced a present he had crafted for the boy. The glass was of an oval shape, thick and smooth. As he held it against the firelight, the reflections in the glass shone green and yellow and soon the boy lost himself in the play of colours. After a while, the colours took on forms and Sherlock eyed with great curiosity the shapes that appeared in front of his eyes. He recognised the village and other parts of the country, all in flames and falling to pieces. Desperately, he had tried to show it to the others, wailing and pointing at the glass, shoving it into the other’s faces, but nobody seemed to be able to see. Thinking about it now, covered in sweat in his little bed, he found the glass beneath his pillow and remembered Turtle Heart’s words from last night:

“I always said this boy has something special ‘bout him. Only people with extraordinary powers can see the future in a glass. One day, that boy will change the world.”


	4. A new beginning?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's first few days at university hold old disappointments but also the hope of something better.

Sixteen years later, Sherlock had successfully left his home in Munchkinland behind. He had been eager to, for several reasons.

When Melena had found out that she was pregnant again, she had begged Nanny to prevent by all means that the new baby would look and behave as unnaturally as her firstborn. Unfortunately, Mrs Hudson’s efforts to please Melena had not brought the intended effect. When Sherlock was two years and seven months old, his brother Mycroft was born – his hair unnaturally red, but worst of all – with no command over his arms or legs. This meant that he needed constant care and supervision, so before Sherlock had even turned three years old, he was left to his own devices. His father, to Sherlock’s great disappointment, turned his back on him completely and seemed to have chosen Mycroft as his favourite son, for as they grew older, Mycroft would never contradict his father in his religious views, nor would he question him as the family’s leader. While Sherlock watched with great sorrow that Frex put all his trust into his helpless child, he was not willing to censor himself or speak only to his father’s liking.

Sherlock did love his brother, who – despite his physical disabilities, that Sherlock, being different himself, did not see any harm in – was very intelligent and both brothers shared many interests. As they grew up, however, it became apparent to Sherlock that his younger brother was yearning for the influence over people, like their father held it in his hands, while Sherlock tried to avoid coming into contact with others at all costs.

Naturally, going to university in Shiz made it impossible to live a solitary life but Sherlock was willing to make that sacrifice for the sake of obtaining a higher education. When he arrived, he was immediately asked to gather with the other newcomers in the main hall of the college, known as Crage Hall. Once there, he learnt that everyone had to share their room with another student. Sherlock watched in horror as, one after the other, the pairs of students left the hall to find their appointed room. In the end it was only him and a slim girl with long dark hair, that she had tied up into a tight bun, and for a moment Sherlock allowed himself to feel relief, because they surely would not ask him to share his room with a girl. He was wrong. Instantly, the girl – Irena-with-an-A, she made that very clear – began to protest, explaining among other reasons that were obviously meant to discriminate Sherlock, that her chaperone, Ama Clutch, had not been able to negotiate a room with a proper housing partner for her, as she had injured her foot while stepping off the train.

In the end, they were forced to give up and retreated to their room together. Once there, Sherlock observed with a mixture of both fascination and disgust, the transformation of Irena’s part of the room. Clothes upon clothes, all ordered by colour and with shoes to match, as well as hats of different shapes and sizes found their way into her wardrobe. Three hours later, she even asked Sherlock for one or two shelves in his own wardrobe, as he did not seem to need them anyway. It was true, all the clothes that Sherlock owned had fit into two shelves. His clothes were mostly black and well-worn. They hid his slim body under layers of fabric and offered him some kind of comfort as everyone he ever met would stare at him. Naturally, he had developed a slouched gait, keeping his head down, so people would not meet his eyes and, at least at home, he had taken to hiding his hair under a hood of some sort or other whenever he was forced to go into town. Here at Shiz, however, he was not allowed to wear them, so it did not take long until Irena, now finished squeezing the last of her garments into Sherlock’s wardrobe, asked him about the product he used to make his hair shine green and why in the world he thought that to be a good idea in the first place. Sherlock swallowed and forced himself to meet Irena’s eyes for the very first time. Promptly, she staggered backwards as his eyes seemed to cut right through her and Sherlock sighed, exasperated, and flopped down sideways on his bed, presenting his roommate with only his backside to stare at.

They silently decided on playing a game of ignoring each other during the next few days and Sherlock was happy with that. Irena was rarely in their room because she was busy telling everyone at Shiz that she was a descendant of the noble Adler clan of Gillikin on her mother’s side. Thereby she hoped to be able to climb the social ladder, or so Sherlock suspected. Lying on his bed, surrounded by books he had picked up from the library just hours after he had arrived at Shiz, he thought that it must have been highly unfortunate for an attention-seeking person like Irena, to be forced to room with the only outcast in the whole university.

When the girl returned to their room that night, something about her had changed. Sherlock eyed her over the rim of the book he had been reading. She was walking in agitated patterns, obviously trying very hard to hold back something she had desperately wanted to say. After observing the scene for a good five minutes, Sherlock finally gave up on ignoring her and tossed the book aside.

“Stop,” he yelled. “You’re driving me crazy.”

Irena, shocked by Sherlock’s harsh tone, looked at him with wide eyes.

“Sit down and spit it out,” he offered, “I can almost hear you thinking. It’s distracting.”

So Irena sat down on her bed and sighed theatrically before telling her unusual roommate about the fight she had gotten into with her friends.

“They just don’t understand,” she lamented. “Do you see all this,” she asked while indicating with a movement of her hand that she was speaking about her faultless appearance. “This is my investment. This is what I bring to Shiz and to the people here.” She tossed her hair back over her shoulder and went on. “But some of those people have been so mean,” she exclaimed. “Can you imagine that they suggested my living with you has a bad influence on my fashion choices?”

Sherlock just stared at her, disbelieving, but Irena failed to notice the offense in her words.

“Like, I know that you’re hiding a gorgeous body under all those rags. Don’t look at me like that, I’ve seen you when you got changed for classes in the morning! And I – it’s such a waste, Sherlock! If only you dressed a bit better, really drew attention to that flat stomach and that plush arse of yours – oh, Sherlock Holmes, stop rolling your pretty emerald eyes at me! – people would care much less about the fact that your hair shines as green as those things you’re staring at me with.”

Sherlock gulped, then blinked a few times in quick succession. Not being able to follow what someone was trying to say had been a very new experience for him, indeed.

“Wait,” he stuttered, “so are you saying – do you really think I could,” he took another breath, “You really think people would actually accept me?”

“Well, honey,” Irena had sat herself down on the edge of Sherlock’s bed now, “you let me take care of that,” and smiled sweetly at him as she squeezed his hands reassuringly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have obviously taken a huge liberty with the Holmes family history here. However, I can see that Mycroft and Nessarose are comparable in their ambitions for power, so I hope this mayor divergence does not scare you off.  
> Those of you who know Wicked, probably understood why Ms Adler is suddenly called Irena-with-an-A. It was the only way to pick up on Galinda's obsession with her own name that I could think of.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. If so, please let me know.   
> The next chapter should be ready this weekend. xx


	5. Alone is what I have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter, Sherlock left his family to go to Shiz university, where he has to share a room with Irena. Though they can't stand each other at first, it seems that despite all their differences the two of them could become friends.

Sherlock turned in front of the mirror, looking at himself from all angles while trying to ignore Irena’s gloating smile in the background. She had proven to be very skilled with a sewing machine that she had produced from god-knows-where. In no time at all, she had Sherlock dressed in tight black trousers that emphasised his long legs and generous behind. The changes she had made to the only nice shirt he possessed made him blush as he looked at his reflection. The fit was so tight that the buttons strained with the slightest movement and yet, he liked what he saw.

“Goodness, Sherlock, I could have you, right here on my bed,” she purred, then ducked and laughed as Sherlock flung a pillow her way. He found it strange that, against all odds and his better judgment, they had somehow become friends.

“Thanks, Irena, I appreciate the sentiment,” he said as he took another eyeful of himself. Then he looked straight at his reflection and sighed. His body might be appealing to a lot of people here at Shiz but would that be enough to distract them from his personality, let alone his green eyes and hair? When he communicated his doubts to Irena, she fell silent for a moment before excitement lit up her face once again. Jumping off her bed, she rushed over to her wardrobe and, rummaging through quite a few boxes, finally produced a black pointed hat in a triumphant gesture.

“How about a hat,” she squealed. “Look, the brim is broad enough to keep the sun from your hair and face. Your curls are really quite pretty, love,” she pointed out, standing across from her roommate now, “it’s just that it gets that funny green shade when light falls on it.”

“I know,” Sherlock muttered, self-conscious. Irena handed him the hat and he tried it on. Reluctantly, he looked at himself in the mirror once again and was not entirely displeased. Logically, the hat made him even taller than he already was but it really provided just enough shade to shield his eyes against any light that could give them their unnatural glow.

“You’re gorgeous, you know,” Irena whispered from behind him and he could tell from the tone of her voice that she meant it.

Thanking her, Sherlock put aside his hat and undressed quickly. Having changed into his pyjamas, he carefully folded his new clothes over the back of his chair and, wishing Irena a good night, went to bed and fell asleep immediately.

 

* * *

 

When Sherlock woke up the next morning, Irena was still sleeping soundly. He himself never needed more than one or two hours a night and rather spent his very early mornings reading in the library, while Irena worked on a couple of more hours ‘beauty sleep’, as she liked to call it.

Willing to show appreciation for Irena’s efforts, Sherlock decided to put on the outfit she had put together for him last night. The tight clothes hugged his body and he felt himself straighten as he looked in the mirror one last time. He picked up his books and then, on second thought, carried the hat along with him as he left the room and made his way over to the library.

Shiz library covered a whole of five floors and was Sherlock’s idea of paradise. All levels where connected by a large open hall in their very centre. Chandeliers, stunning in their size and beauty, hung from dark wooden beams that connected both sides of the third floor. Their light gave the hall a magical appearance, playing with shadows in the endless lines of bookshelves on every floor, left and right. Underneath each chandelier, a set of furniture had been placed. Simple arrangements with desks and chairs alternated with squares of green leather sofas and foot rests. A table stood in their middle to hold books that had already been read or still needed a student’s attention. The ceiling above the hall was made from glass and sometimes at night, when Sherlock had hidden himself in a far corner of the building to avoid being thrown out by the end of the library’s opening hours, he would lie down on one of the sofas and marvel at the beauty of the stars.

He was not prone to sentiment but, if he ever did, it was during those nights that Sherlock acknowledged to himself that this was the place where he felt most at ease. During the day the place lost some of its appeal because he had to share it with other students but maybe, Sherlock thought now, as he entered the library at four o’clock in the morning after expertly picking the lock of the main entrance, maybe things would be a little less tedious from now on.

Placing his hat and books on a desk of his choice, he considered yesterday’s notes and decided on returning the books currently in his possession before searching for new ones that still needed reading.

Irena insisted that Sherlock did not read books. In her eyes, he devoured them. Many a night, when she came in late from a party or other, he would sit on his bed, so completely lost in a book that he would not even notice her arrival. During one of their earliest arguments, Irena had used that knowledge to insult her roommate, but Sherlock chose to take it in as praise.

Remembering it now, Sherlock smiled a little to himself. He had always been different from everyone else and most likely it was going to stay that way. Valuing thinking over anything else, however, he did not understand as a weakness. While most of the students at Shiz were stupid at best, Sherlock lived to seek knowledge and to learn. From very early on, when he had understood that other people only brought pain and disappointment into his life, he had learned that he was in the best company when he was alone with himself. Last night, Irena had succeeded in cracking his defences and suddenly, being completely alone did not seem so desirable anymore.

He stayed in the library most of the day, leaving only in the late afternoon to find something to eat before assembling with the other students of his year. It was poetry night and failure to attend would be punished. Even if he liked to bend the rules at times, Sherlock did not quite feel like risking trouble with the headmaster.

A napkin filled with freshly baked cookies, that he had pinched from the kitchen mere minutes ago, in hand, Sherlock walked across the lawn between the library and the student dormitories. A few feet away he spotted Irena sitting in the shade, surrounded by a circle of her friends. They made eye contact and Sherlock decided to greet her with a small nod. Surely it would be an acceptable gesture, when a wave would most clearly have drawn too much attention.

Irena’s answering laugh confused him for a second, until he realised that she must have said something to the others, who were now joining in with her. One of the girls shouted “Nice hat, witch!” and the wind carried another round of hysterical laughter his way.

Furious, Sherlock tore the headgear off and picked up the pace, nearly running back to his room. Once inside, he tossed the hat against the wall and took some satisfaction from the sound it made as it finally hit the floor. He threw himself onto his bed and only then remembered the cookies. Even though he did not feel like eating, he shoved one into his mouth. Chewing messily, with crumbs tumbling all over his front, Sherlock felt a numbness crawl over him that he had last felt when Mrs. Hudson had left his side that very first time.

Irena might have had the wish to help him last night but she would never care about anyone as much as she cared about herself. Sherlock scolded himself for not having seen the likelihood of her abandoning him as soon as it was easier for her to just make fun of him, again.

“Alone is what I have, alone protects me,” he whispered to himself. From now on, Sherlock decided as he rolled over to the other side of the bed to pick up the hat, he would give as bad as he got. He was different, inside and out, and Shiz would soon enough realise how much.

Cleaning himself up just enough to be presentable, Sherlock put on the hat and walked back across campus with his head held high, never once acknowledging the other students around him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all SORRY that it took so long. A few weeks ago, I was ignorant enough to believe that I could have this story finished by September, when my holidays end. In the meantime I've been away and now work is creeping up on me, so I can't possibly say how long the writing process will take. Alas, I don't want to rush this because I love putting Sherlock into this universe and I have a feeling that it won't be long now until the story is not all about him anymore, if you know what I mean. So please, bear with me. xx


	6. Poetry Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mister Morrible holds a fateful poetry night and Sherlock unwillingly meets an old acquaintance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If only I could write as often as I want.. this story would be long finished. I thank you for your patience and promise there'll be another chapter this weekend, especially because this one is rather short. Still, I hope you enjoy.

It was to the great dislike of many at Shiz, that Mister Morrible, the university's head, was fond of poetry. However, his love for verse was often celebrated on what was called Poetry Night. The students would gather in the great hall and enjoy each other’s company rather than Morrible’s rhymes. The girls would also use it as an opportunity to wear their finest dresses, mostly to get the attention of the male students.

Unfortunately, when Irena and her following entered the hall this evening and had a look around, they had to admit to themselves that the boys present really had not been worth the effort. Most of them had not even changed out of their day-clothes and looked shabby. The professors, on the other hand, were a different matter and soon enough Irena and her friends found themselves in the first row, facing the teaching staff of the university. They sat behind a long line of tables, facing the audience, and some of the bolder ones would look at the girls in ways that had them blush and giggle.

All noise died down as Mister Morrible, a thin man of average height, took the stage in front of his students and began to recite his newest poetic creations. His words this evening where a carefully chosen appeal for more control and less indulgence, praising a singular, yet unnamed deity. Murmurs started to erupt within the crowd, and with every line added, the discomfort among the students only grew.

The scandal was complete when Morrible ended his last poem with the words “ _Animals should be seen and not heard._ ”

Doctor Dillamond, a Goat teaching at Shiz, cried out and angrily scraped his hoofs over the marble floor of the hall as he made a quick retreat. He was immediately followed by other Animal teachers, who all expressed their anger about the head’s words in obvious ways.

While Irena and her company stayed mostly oblivious to what was going on around them, a slim figure at the very back of the hall let itself fall back even more into the dark edges of the grand room. Sherlock felt the discomfort as many others in the hall did that night, but he might have been one of the very few who really understood what Morrible had said. His voice had been sweet as ever and the spoken word made it impossible to determine whether he had been talking about regular animals or if he, as Sherlock strongly suspected, had just humiliated the Animal population. It had been clever, very clever indeed.

Sherlock thought more about it as he left the hall along with everyone else and was so trapped in his own mind that he ran into Irena, who was talking to a Munchkinlander. Sherlock only needed to look at the poor sod once before he understood that the young man had fallen head over heels for Irena. As it happened, Sherlock had just interrupted their introductions and witnessed Irena’s company stammering: “Stamford, I, my name is Stamford. But you can call me Boq, if you like.”

Charming, Sherlock thought to himself and wanted to walk away as quickly as possible but he did not stand a chance. Irena caught his gaze with a bittersweet smile and, as if she was happy to see her roommate, proclaimed that she had not expected to see Sherlock at poetry night.

At the mention of his name, Boq looked at him with obvious interest. “Sherlock? I knew it! I knew I’d seen you before!”

“I’m sure you’re mistaken,” Sherlock grumbled, avoiding the other young man’s eyes.

“No, I’m absolutely certain! We played together as kids. Well, once. That little old lady brought you to the playground! I remember your eyes. And your green hair. Scared the hell out of me back then,” Boq said and upon realising that he was rambling himself into a corner, stopped speaking altogether.

“Oh, Master Boq,” Sherlock growled and Irena knew that whatever he had ready on the tip of his tongue would not be as respectful as the address, “I don’t know you but now that I look at you, let me tell you what’s weird about _you_. I know you were born a toad, ugly and fat and green and you only look like a boy because The Clock turned you into one. That scary enough? No? Well,” Sherlock hissed, “on your wedding night, when you’re alone with your wife and you lay her down in front of you, she’ll open your pants and find no-“

“Sherlock,” Irena shrieked, “that’s enough!”

Perplexed by his roommate’s outburst, Sherlock huffed, then turned around and walked away.

Boq stood next to Irena, still red in the face from all the abuse he just had to endure.

“Why did he say all these terrible things,” he asked. “Of course I remember him. Exactly how many people with green hair are there?”

“Perhaps,” Irena sighed, “he didn’t like being remembered on account of the unusual colour of his hair and eyes. He’s not particularly fond of it for some reason.”

Then, as politely as she could, Irena said goodbye to Boq and made her way back to her room. She thought about what she would say to Sherlock and found that she actually wanted to apologise for the incident this afternoon. However, when she closed the door behind herself, Sherlock was already in bed, blankets pulled over his head and faking snores.


	7. Secret meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock arranges a date for Boq - with Irena - and enjoys himself a little too much.

Time passed and although Sherlock tried to support Doctor Dillamond in every way he could, it was clear that Mister Morrible’s words had upset the Goat greatly. An open confrontation with the head led absolutely nowhere and Sherlock was exasperated to find that most of the university’s students had not even understood the importance of the conflict that was simmering between Morrible and the Animals, who now feared that they would soon be treated like their more primitive, uncivilised and uneducated counterparts.

At the start of her second year at Shiz, Irena went to see Mister Morrible, hoping he would be amenable to her changing accommodation. It was a fruitless undertaking, because the alternative would have her Ama taking care of fifteen girls at once, so Irena decided to go on sharing her room with Sherlock.

Leaving Morrible’s office, Irena thought about ways in which she could ask Sherlock about his brother. The head had made some strange remarks about the younger boy, who would be attending Shiz in a year’s time as well. She really wanted to know more but she did not have the nerve to ask her roommate. Instead, she pondered Morrible’s suggestion to specialise in sorcery and found she quite liked the idea.

When she later discussed it with Sherlock, he made it clear that he was glad for her to have found a field of study but he was determined to continue keeping his focus on sciences. They quietly agreed that, seeing their different academic pursuits, it might be possible to change rooms at the end of this year. Irena saw an opportunity to finally ask about Sherlock’s brother but when her roommate did not mention the younger Holmes coming to Shiz, she dismissed the idea again.

That same night Boq threw himself into his studies, while the other boys wanted nothing more than going to the pub. His closest friend, Avaric, did his best to convince him but in the end he just gave up and left. Boq saw his opportunity and sneaked out of the dormitory a good half hour later. Once outside, he climbed a tree that he had discovered to offer a perfect view into the room that he knew belonged to Irena.

This evening he was particularly lucky. Irena was by herself and as far as he could see, she was just getting ready to retire for the evening. He could see her slender shoulders disappearing under a wave of luxurious curls as she opened her hair and needed to press the palm of his hand into his crotch to stop his arousal from growing even more.

“What the hell are you doing up there?”

Boq was so shocked about Sherlock’s sudden appearance that he lost his balance and dropped out of the tree like a ripe fruit.

“Master Sherlock,” he gasped as he stood up from the ground, failing miserably at hiding his embarrassment.

“Master Boq,” Sherlock acknowledged, “did you see anything you liked while you were up there?”

Boq tripped over his own tongue in trying to deny that he had been watching Irena through the window but he knew it was pointless anyway. Sherlock must have known, like he always seemed to do with everyone.

“So, you’re interested in my roommate, then? Little Boq and the pretty Irena? Fancy that,” Sherlock smirked.

“Master Sherlock,” Boq all but begged, “you don’t understand! I’m in love with her! And I think,” he rambled on, “I think she might like me too. We’ve been out for coffee last week, and… Why are you laughing?” he asked.

“Oh, Irena told me all about that. It wasn’t like you had arranged for a date, was it? You met on the street, she mentioned going for a coffee and you just followed her. I’m not sure if that really means she _likes_ you,” Sherlock replied. He was rather starting to enjoy where this conversation was going.

Boq shrieked and listed several reasons he thought would perfectly underline his assessment of Irena’s feelings for him. Sherlock listened, amused.

“So how about I arrange a secret meeting between the two of you? In the gardens, perhaps? It’s quiet down there and nobody would see or hear whatever you and the lovely Irena would get up to.”

Completely missing the mocking tone of Sherlock’s suggestion, Boq immediately fell into a frenzy, going through ways in which he would court Irena, always mindful of not overdoing it as he did not want to scare the fragile thing away.

Sherlock managed to bite back his laugh at the last moment. Irena was anything but fragile. Oh, he was really looking forward to this secret meeting.

Two nights later, Sherlock had successfully convinced Irena to accompany him into the gardens. Irena had been furious when her roommate told her about the date she was going to have but in the end, she gave in. She did not care much for Boq, but she had to admit to herself that she did not want to disappoint Sherlock in any way.

Of course, Boq protested wildly as he spotted Sherlock, who reasoned that he could not leave Irena alone with the other man and had to protect her decency. Furthermore, he would make sure that both parties understood each other. Being from different countries, they would be likely to misunderstand each other and Sherlock would be there to help them avoid it.

In the end, the meeting turned out as an utter disappointment for poor love-sick Boq, who tried to win Irena’s affections with colourful declarations of his feelings for her and promised that he would never give up, even if she said that she did not want him in that moment.

Sherlock stood back and enjoyed himself immensely. Boq was making a fool of himself, Irena struggled to put an end to his pursuits and Sherlock commented on the whole affair as if he was watching the mating ritual of a pair of animals.

The whole scene was interrupted by the appearance of Ama Clutch, who was terrified to find Irena in the company of two men.

“Oh, Miss,” Sherlock said calmly, “you needn’t worry about her. For one, you know I’d never touch her, and just look at poor Boq here. He’s delightfully undeveloped. See? He’s not even growing a beard yet and, I think, from that we can deduce-“

“Stop!” Boq shrieked, “you’ve insulted me enough for a lifetime! I’m going, I’m already gone but,” he took Irena’s hands in his and looked into her eyes, “you have to believe me, I do love you, and I won’t give up until you return those feelings. At least let us be friends! That’s all I’m asking for.”

“No, Boq, I am sorry. I will never learn to love you but I will, I promise you this, treat you like a friend when we happen to meet,” Irena replied, _almost_ unimpressed by the young man’s final outburst.

After that, Boq left and once Ama Clutch was finished with a last angry tirade, both Sherlock and Irena returned to their room. They did not talk much more that night but Irena was pleased to see an amused smile flash across Sherlock’s face every once in a while, as they quietly went about their preparations for the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare yourselves for John's arrival at Shiz in the next chapter.


	8. No longer the only odd one around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange new student arrives at the beginning of Sherlock's third year at Shiz.

Their third year at university began with a tragedy that had a profound influence on the little group of friends that had formed during the summer holidays.

Sherlock, Irena and Boq, along with some of his friends, had started helping Doctor Dillamond in his struggle against the unjust Animal laws that were brought forward by Mister Morrible. They spent hours in the library every day and Sherlock supported the Goat as an assistant in the lab. Every evening, when they met up for dinner, he would tell his friends about Dillamond’s achievements and while they barely understood half of what Sherlock was talking about, they knew that the doctor was about to make discoveries of great importance.

Therefore, the shock they experienced one morning, when Dillamond’s lifeless body was found in his laboratory, pushed the group of friends into a sea of sadness and anger. There had been clear signs that the Goat had been murdered but the university’s head declared the doctor’s untimely passing a tragic accident and was done with it. There were no investigations, no questions asked.

The most obvious change was undergone by Irena, who remembered with great embarrassment how much she had insisted on the correct pronunciation of her name when she first met the Goat. Now, she called herself Irene, in memory of the way Dillamond had falsely addressed her two years ago. It was clear that her character had changed as well, she had become gentler and less interested in spending time with her group of female friends.

The start of the next year brought new students to Shiz, among them Sherlock’s younger brother, whom Irene was dying to meet. She had learned that Mycroft was the second of three children. The third child, Shell, was the girl their mother had been waiting for all her life, but Melena had not survived her birth.

Mycroft, at least Sherlock was certain about that, was his father’s favourite. Irene found the boy to be strangely handsome. The clothes he wore were of a fine quality, yet the earthy colours of his obligatory three-piece-suits seemed to make the younger Holmes brother fade into the background. It was often only at a second glance that people watching the boy would realise he had no arms.

Because of his disability, Mycroft needed constant assistance and even though Mrs Hudson took good care of him, Sherlock felt the need to support his brother whenever he could. He only ever left his brother’s side to attend lectures or meet his friends to help them with their studies.

So it happened that Sherlock and Boq attended the first biology lecture held by Doctor Dillamond’s replacement together. The new teacher was a strange man, old and rather unpleasant to look at. Both friends agreed that his presence made them miss the Goat even more.

The lecture gained somewhat in excitement when, right in the middle of one of Doctor Nikidik’s lengthy explanations, the door opened and a blond young man in strangely foreign attire tried to slip into the lecture hall unnoticed. Nikidik shouted angrily that he did not accept latecomers in his classes and Sherlock and Boq watched as the new boy sat down in the nearest empty seat and kept his head low.

“I feel sorry for him,” Boq whispered, “he’s clearly not from here and what a way is that to be welcomed at Shiz?”

Sherlock only nodded, his eyes fixed on the back of the strange boy’s head.

 

At the same lecture the following week, everyone looked at the new student. This time, he had arrived for class early and found himself a seat in the back of the room, as far away from Nikidik as possible.

Boq and Sherlock were already comfortable in their usual spots when Avaric arrived. He tipped his head towards the direction where the strange boy was sitting.

“He’s a prince, they say. Not with a crown or anything but he’ll run a tribe or something when he’s king. His name is John and he stays at the Towers. I wonder what he makes of city life.

The others stared at him with open mouths, so Avaric went on: “I wonder what he’s wearing all that weird paint for. He’s only drawing attention to himself. And that skin, so… Why is he not as white as we are?”

“I reckon he got his tan from spending most of his time outside in the sun, Avaric,” Sherlock reasoned, rolling his eyes. “To be honest, I quite like his appearance. At least I’m not the only odd one around anymore, now that he is at Shiz.”

Boq and Avaric both gaped at Sherlock, not quite sure what to make of their unusual friend’s admission.

The lecture itself proved to be upsetting to most in attendance, even though the reason this time was much more severe than last week’s confusion. Nikidik had brought with him a small lion cub and the animal so obviously terrified that Sherlock, despite his friends’ attempt to keep him quiet, confronted the Doctor right there and then. He asked legitimate questions about the whereabouts of the cub’s mother, who – as Nikidik later admitted – had been killed in a not entirely accidental explosion. The small lion was now at the Doctor’s mercy and Sherlock suspected that it would meet a similar fate as its mother once it was no longer needed as a specimen.

The thought made him feel sick and even before the lecture had come to a close, he and Boq were on their way out.

“You felt for that beast, didn’t you,” Boq asked carefully and Sherlock nodded and sighed.

Boq suggested going for a coffee in town and Sherlock, feeling that he needed a distraction, agreed.

Later that evening, Sherlock joined Mycroft and Mrs Hudson in the room they now shared, and found that a package had arrived from his father.

Mrs Hudson read out the letter, while Sherlock examined the contents of the box. What he found was a pair of finest leather shoes, which were, as became obvious from the letter, meant for Mycroft. There was nothing else, nothing for him and as the nanny finished reading the note, it became clear that their father had not even included a word of greeting for his oldest son. Upset, Sherlock changed into his pyjamas and went to bed. Mycroft, apparently in an attempt to console his brother, murmured: “Don’t be disappointed Sherlock. Daddy knows you wouldn’t like fine shoes anyway, so he didn’t send a pair for you.”

Sherlock hissed a heart-felt “Fuck off, Mycroft!”, that had both his brother and Mrs Hudson gasp in shock, and turned on his side to sleep. An hour later he was still lying awake and decided that it was one of those nights where he needed nothing more than the calming solitude of the library. As quietly as possible, he put on his dark blue night gown (a gift from Irene) and left the room.

On his way towards his sanctuary, Sherlock passed through the university’s gardens and stopped as he noticed that someone else was there with him. He hid behind a tree and watched with curiosity as John, the new student, the foreign prince, sat by a small pond and looked up at the moon. It was the first time that Sherlock noticed that the blue ornaments on his chest and shoulders were not paint but small crystals that he now watched as they glistened in the moonlight.

Carefully, Sherlock walked closer. He cleared his throat softly and sat down next to John.

“I couldn’t sleep because my brother is annoying. What’s your excuse for being out here in the middle of the night?” he asked.

John looked at him, confused. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

“Oh, yes, formalities,” Sherlock scoffed and offered his hand, “the name is Sherlock Holmes.”

“Sherlock?”, John asked.

“Yes, my mother hated me, clearly. Apparently she tried to be funny when she chose my name. Our senses of humour never agreed,” Sherlock admitted, rolling his eyes in defeat.

“I’m sorry. I’m John, but it seems like you already knew that,” the blond boy said, smiling. Sherlock started to feel a little light-headed, although the cause remained beyond him.

“So? What’s your reason for not being in bed like a good boy?”

Sherlock saw that John was thinking if and what he should tell him. Whatever it was he was looking for in Sherlock’s eyes, he must have found it because a moment later he started to talk.

“I’m 18 years old now, which might not be of importance to you at all but for me, every year that I get older, the inevitable moves closer. In our culture there is a custom that I have tried to rebel against since I was a child. We don’t get a say in who we marry. Our parents arrange it for us,” John stopped, looking at Sherlock to see if he was still listening. Sherlock nodded, so he continued.

“When I was seven years old, I was forced to marry a princess from a neighbouring tribe. I saw her once, by accident, when I was nine. Her name is Mary. She’s blonde, like me, those are the only things I know. I’m expected to share my life with her and in two years’ time, I will move into a house and start a family with a woman I know nothing of. It scares me, which is why I can’t sleep,” he said and Sherlock noticed tears in John’s eyes.

“What if you find someone else?” he wanted to know. “Is there no way of stopping this?”

John sighed and shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock admitted and before he knew what he was doing, took John’s hands and held them in his own. John’s skin was soft and warm, and Sherlock looked at their joined hands, observing his thumbs as they rubbed over John’s palms in soothing circles.

John gasped and Sherlock looked up, unable to read the expression on the other man’s face.

“Sherlock, thank you,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact, “I think I should go.”

Slowly, he pulled his hands from Sherlock, who continued to stare at the now empty space in front of him for a long time after John had wished him a good night and rushed away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is. John takes the role of Fiyero. I probably won't be able to update within the next two weeks, so I hope you enjoyed the chapters that made it into existence this weekend. xx


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